


What He Wants

by RottenFruitz



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Jamie's in there too, but like, he doesn't actually show up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RottenFruitz/pseuds/RottenFruitz
Summary: What does Anti want with Chase's brothers anyway?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	What He Wants

**Author's Note:**

> With luck, this fic will also be up on my Tumblr, fruitycasket, soon after posting this. If you're interested, you can check it out there, too. (Look under my #fanfic tag!)

Chase has questions. They buzz around his brain like angry wasps, desperate to find an exit. They’ve been growing in number uncontrollably these past few days. Or, if he wants to be more precise: when Anti captured Jameson.

Ever since he had taken this deal, Chase hadn’t seen the need to worry much about his brothers. From what he could tell, the demon seemed fine with leaving them be, so long as they kept their distance. Chase could no longer go see them or talk with them, but if it meant keeping them from Anti’s wrath, it wasn’t  _ too _ heinous a task.

Now, though, as he cleans a pair of suspiciously human bones and listens to the faint sound of his brother pounding on his door, trying to escape, Chase is painfully aware that Anti decided not to mention his brothers’ safety in his proposal for a reason. He knows the demon can’t have good intentions. He never has good intentions (although he is very good at sugarcoating). Even worse, he realizes that his gut reaction is to ignore it and not care. The thumping and banging has just become background noise. He understands he is washing bones that once belonged to another human being, but his hands are still and his stomach is calm.

Why  _ would _ he care about any of this, anyway?

How many times had he heard people pounding on the doors and rattling their chains, cursing and spitting and crying?

How many times had he been on his knees with his hands and forearms covered in soap and crimson stains, washing bones bloodier than this,  _ meatier _ than this?

He’s become desensitized, he realizes.

_ I can’t be desensitized to this, though, _ Chase thinks. This is his  _ brother _ , his  _ friend _ . He wants to survive here, to survive Anti, but he doesn’t want to lose himself either. If he acts like they’re strangers, lets whatever is going to happen happen, or god forbid, actively _ helps _ it happen, he’ll have lost the last shred of himself he’s managed to hold on to after all this time. That thought horrifies him, but he doesn’t know how he could possibly stop it from coming to pass.

Chase finishes washing the bones. It’s quieter than it was before. He glances over his shoulder. The banging has stopped. Jameson’s given up. For now.

When he turns back to look at his work, Anti is beside him, looking down at him through unnaturally dark smoke from his cigar. His eyes—black and covered in iridescent film not unlike what you’d see on an oil spill—are impossible to read.

There’s a beat of silence between them as they both lock eyes.

Anti blows thick cigar smoke in Chase’s face and grins, revealing sharp teeth stained by repeated exposure to blood and viscera. “Nice work,” he says.

“Yeah.” Chase’s mouth feels dry. He always gets nervous when Anti is standing above him like this; he was kicked in the chest once and became untrusting of it permanently.

There’s another, shorter beat of silence.

“You have questions,” Anti frowns a little as he says this, then moves his cigar from his mouth to his throat slit.

“About my brothers, about Jameson,” Chase replies, keeping his voice even, “What do you—”

“Don’t worry yourself,” Anti says, sitting down beside Chase and throwing an arm around his shoulder like they’ve been friends since they were little, “I have good plans for that one. He has good skin, takes care of it well…”

Anti doesn’t need to elaborate, because Chase has heard this “good skin” compliment before, although it was more of a complaint then.

One word pushes its way to the front of his brain, cutting through the disgust and fear:  _ pillows. _

Chase knows its pillows, because Anti has told him once or twice that he’s been planning to make human-leather pillows, but can’t find anyone with nice enough skin for such a project.

It is  _ very _ tempting to get upset, to feel sick, to plead for Jameson’s life, but these things rarely change the demon’s mind. There’s nothing he can do. At least, not now. He doesn’t want Anti catching wind of any disobedience, so he pushes those thoughts and emotions down, takes a second to think, and asks:

“And Henrik?”

“Mister  _ Good Doctor _ ?” Anti says that last part in a clearly mocking tone, “I’ve already done enough to him don’t you think?” He puts one hand over his eye; he’s referencing the hand-shaped burn he gave Henrik some time ago.

“Marvin?” Chase presses further. It’s rare Anti will tell him this much without getting bored and deciding the conversation is over.

“I’ll leave him be, for now. He’s beneficial to me, keeps certain…  _ things _ from bothering me too much. Other creatures who I’d rather not see right now,” Anti pauses, an amused look crosses his face, “Relatives, if you will.”

Chase is curious to know if Marvin was making deals with Anti long before him, but he’s more infatuated by the idea that Anti might have  _ family _ , or even stranger, a  _ mother and father _ . But if the demon wanted to elaborate on that, he would have already, so there was no point in asking.

“Okay, what about Jackie?”

Anti frowns, his brow furrowing at the mention of the hero’s name. “ _ That one _ is on very thin ice, but he’s otherwise done nothing to upset our deal. Yet. With luck, it will stay that way, and the ice will get a little thicker…”

Chase wonders if that’s because  _ Anti _ , of all creatures, wants  _ peace _ . It’s an alien thought; for sure an interesting one, but he sees no truth in it. He’s seen what this  _ thing _ does for fun—and been forced to do some of those things himself—the thought of him enjoying peace is nothing but a fleeting hope.

“Well, that’s my good deed for the day,” Anti says. He taps his cigar on Chase’s head, letting warm ash fall into dark brown hair (a habit Chase was secretly hoping he’d dropped), then stands up. “If you need me, I won’t be there, so figure it out yourself.”

Chase smiles a little. Anti says it like a joke, but he knows he’s only partly kidding.

“Make sure to feed our new friend, too,” Anti calls out as he walks away, “and discipline him as needed.”

The demon leaves, and Chase stops guarding his thoughts. The emotions he’s been carefully keeping tucked away come flooding out. He might throw up, but the fear of mucking up his freshly cleaned bones keeps his food down.

_ Fuck,  _ Chase thinks,  _ He’s going to kill Jameson! _

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeh not feeling /too/ good about this one, tbh. I hope you enjoyed regardless!
> 
> ((Also, fun fact, at some point I considered giving Anti this quirk where his mouth didn't move when he spoke but it didn't make it into this story.))


End file.
